


The Woman Death

by Elkian (SuperImposed)



Series: Veils [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Death, Discussion of Queerphobia, Discussion of Rape and Sexual Violence, Drabble, Fridging: A Drabble, Gen, Internalized Misogyny, Oneshot, Oops, Personification of Death, Self-Indulgent, The Woman Dies, discussion of transphobia, original - Freeform, prose, vent write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/Elkian
Summary: I read Aoko Matsuda's "The Woman Dies" thanks to a Tumblr post and this got stuck in my head so here we are.This is a story about misogyny in popular media. You have been warned.





	The Woman Death

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this got a little uh..... vent-y at the end. You've been warned.
> 
> Also I'm queer and trans and talk about the death of queer and trans people so you've also been warned for that.
> 
> EDIT: When I say "vent write" I mean "my bitterness over bullshit in popular media took control over my hands without any apparent input from my brain, thanks". That's... that's what you're really getting into. I really can't reiterate this enough.

Start with a physical description? Please, let's not.

 

Let's talk about the throne. It is not comfortable. It was not made to be sat on. Unlike all too many uncomfortable things made for women, it has never been used.

 

It is broken pens, dripping ink into a bloody pool in a throne room she never bothers with. Every pen that ever wrote "the woman dies". Every ink ribbon, every pencil, every stick of chalk and sticky keyboard. The woman dies.

 

The woman dies.

 

(It ever grows. Mostly, thanks to men, but anyone can learn bad habits. Don't forget that.)

 

A physical description? Perish the thought!

 

Should I describe the exact shape and size of her eyes? The tone of her skin, her measurements, which celebrity should play her (which celebrity has played the woman who dies, and dies, and dies)?

 

Let's not.

 

She is Death but no Reaper. Her charges come all to easily to her as they die, and die, and die. She needs no scythe. Perhaps a featherbed or floating cloud, to soften the way down, for it always so very, very hard for them.

 

If she cut them free, she'd have much fewer charges. She longs for those days. She prepares for that future.

 

She can't break those chains. No matter how many she rescues, she never saves. Because the woman dies.

 

"I don't know what happened," the new charge might say. Her name may be Cathy, or Mary, or Angie. She will be conventionally pretty, many times. She may be lost or confused.

 

Sometimes, she is angry.

 

"I had a _role_ ," clenched fists, clenched teeth, angry tears and dry eyes and fury that fans the coals of Death's own heart. Pounding a fist to a bloody clavicle or over a lead-ridden abdomen, poison-dark veins standing out or eyes rolled back, "I had a _story_."

 

They had a life.

 

But only one story can live, it seems. Kill the woman. Kill her story. Kill the complications she arouses just by existing.

 

Death scoops bloody chunks out of refrigerators and bullet-studded beautiful corpses off of trash heaps.

 

How dare she interfere with the _real_ story? How dare she pose questions that require the writer to know more than their own experiences? How dare she present even the notion of a person?

 

And so the woman dies.

 

Sometimes she's killed. Sometimes she's forgotten.

 

Shock value has no value at all, except in a haunted house. Death rescues dead woman after dead woman from happy endings that look like horror flicks.

 

The woman is raped, is forgotten, is killed. The woman is used, the woman dies. But the happy ending is achieved! After all, her pain only means something 'til it's used up. A woman's death is a finite resource: use it wisely! A woman's rape can be less compelling than the death of a dog: best present her violation powerfully!

 

There is no power. There is no wisdom. There is death. There is Death.

 

You still want a physical description? Fine. The Death of Women wears a pink dress all over diamonds. The Death of Women has half a dozen wings, each feather a razor-sharp stiletto heel, an open lipstick tube, a knife dripping poison, a torn bra. When Her wings beat, it smells like leather and exploitation. The wind howls like a stock scream (always a women's scream, if not the very very famous Man's Scream, the Wilhelm.).

 

She bears the face of immortal sagacity. She is not ancient. She feels so very, very old.

 

Everyone expects a black dress, or perhaps a very sexy red, cut up the thigh and down the neck because no one needs tits out like Death needs tits out. How can you tell if She's a _woman_ , after all?

 

She's very tired.

 

Sometimes there's overlap. The Death of the Lost and Forgotten. More and more these days (but less and less by proportion, perhaps - a light at the end of the tunnel?) the Death of the Queer, the Death of the Transgender.

 

There's discussions, that overlap. Who gets the lesbian? Who gets the transgender woman? The odd bi woman? God forbid, the rare ace?

 

The Death of Women doesn't know the answer to these fucking questions, but at least Her solution isn't "kill unimportant people until the problem goes away". Thinking a bit hard is a much better alternative.

 

She'd rather Her realm never grew again.

 

But the woman continues to die. Because she was in the way. Because her powers were too great to let the man shine. Because that's the only way to resolve a love triangle - we don't have time to introduce a C-list man. An emotionally satisfying conclusion? What the hell is that?

 

So the woman dies.

 

Where does the rating go up? When the woman dies? When she's chopped into pieces and placed in her husband's fridge? When she's raped on-screen? Or when I type the word "fuck"?

 

The Death of Women wears a pink dress and lives with ageless sagacity. She wishes she could do more than collect the dead.

 

Slowly, slowly, the river is thinning to a trickle. Someday, maybe, it will dry up entirely.

 

Until then, Her realm is too damn big.

 

* * *

 

[

Image Description: An excerpt from Aoko Matsuda's "The Woman Dies". Each instance of the word "dies" is highlighted, 14 in all. Text as follows:

The woman dies _._

She dies to provide a plot twist. She dies to develop the narrative. She dies for cathartic effect. She dies because no one could think of what else to do with her. Dies because there weren’t any better story ideas around. Dies because her death was the very best idea that anyone could come up with.

‘I’ve got it! Let’s kill her off!’

‘Yes! Her death will solve everything!’

‘Okay! Let’s hit the pub!’

And so, the woman dies. The woman dies so the man can be sad about it. The woman dies so the man can suffer. She dies to give him a destiny. Dies so he can fall to the dark side. Dies so he can lament her death. As he stands there, brimming with grief, brimming with life, the woman lies there in silence. The woman dies for him. We watch it happen. We read about it happening. We come to know it well.

]

**Author's Note:**

> Me: finishes this  
> Me: *looks at hands* hey what the FUCK?
> 
> Original Article: https://granta.com/the-woman-dies/
> 
> Death of Women is on the same axes as Morbicand - they take care of the lost and slipped between the cracks, She takes care of the (fictional) women who just die and die and die.
> 
> I was gonna have Morbicand bring Her a charge that ended up in the former's realm but no, this drabble is for Her.
> 
> (I tried googling the proportion of appearances:deaths of intersex people in fiction but didn't find anything conclusive yet)


End file.
